Weekend Duty - Chapter 4 - Saturday, 15:34 EST
Title: Weekend Duty
Author: SA3466996
Rating: PG-13, T
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Genre: Gen
Pairing: None
Character: Gibbs/DiNozzo/Team
Summary: Tony went AWOL. Gibbs wants to make sure it never happens again. After ordering him to work the weekend shift, Gibbs finds out a little more about his senior field agent and Tony finds out just how big that second 'b' is. Sequel to The Onion and Word Salad. Tag to 'Boxed In'. Could also be read as a backstory for the comment "You'll do" in 'Hiatus'.
Spoilers: References to 'Boxed In', 'Mind Games' and 'Caught on Tape'.
Warnings: Minor violence, minor language.
Disclaimer: NCIS characters belong to Bellisario, CBS and Paramount. No copyright infringement intended.
Betas: CSIGeekFan, Obsessed Pam and Will.
Chapter 4 - Saturday, 15:34 EST
Even though Gibbs had made the journey in record time, it had still seemed to take an age.
On arrival at Quantico, the two NCIS agents had been met by Sergeant Alvarez who had immediately taken them to see Colonel Andrew Watson and Matt Webb, the officer candidate who had found Reynolds. They’d just finished their informal preliminary interview and the Colonel had sent Webb and Alvarez back to their training, when a young marine appeared at the doorway with Ducky in tow.
“Excuse me, Sir. The NCIS Medical Examiner, Dr Mallard, is here.”
“Thank you, Corporal. Dismissed.”
Watson stood and then moved to the doorway, “Gentlemen, would you like to follow me and I’ll take you to Reynolds’s room. It was sealed immediately after I was notified at 12:40 today.”
Gibbs cocked his head at Ducky at that remark before leading the delegation that followed Colonel Watson.
---------
Watson led the group out of the main building across the courtyard and to the PLC resident barracks. Two flights of stairs later, they entered a long corridor.
“It’s the second door on the left,” Watson stated. The two marines stationed outside the entrance to the room immediately stood to attention and saluted.
Gibbs and Ducky entered the room first, followed by Colonel Watson. DiNozzo hung back just inside the doorway and surveyed the scene. The room was small and furnished with two beds, one to either side of the door, two tall slim cabinets and two small chests of drawers at the end of each bed. One barred window opposite the doorway allowed some natural light through and helped to give the illusion of a larger room. It was, Tony noted, a typically tidy marine room, basic and functional, everything had its own place. It reminded Tony of the room he’d shared, as a boy, at the Academy... well, with the exception of a couple of items. This room lacked the desks and chairs that had been standard issue at the Academy. His room had lacked the young man who hung from a makeshift noose that had been tied around one of the bars on the window.
He must have been deep in thought for too long because Gibbs’s next order was delivered with more gruffness than he’d been expecting.
“DiNozzo... bag and tag. I’ll shoot and sketch.”
“No problem, Boss.”
“Wasn’t expecting one, DiNozzo.”
The curtness wasn’t lost on Tony or, for that matter, Colonel Watson who watched, unsympathetically, as the younger of the two agents removed his back pack - with a little more force than was necessary - and began a slow, silent thorough grid search of the room looking for anything of evidential value that could help their investigation.
“Thank you, Colonel Watson. We’ll take it from here. You can let the guards go,” Gibbs nodded to the doorway. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything.”
Once the Colonel had left, all three men got to work. Processing the scene was difficult because the room was so small. Ducky had priority over the body so he took that immediate area. Gibbs took the right hand side of the room and Tony was left with... the left. The lack of chatter in the room was painfully apparent but blessedly punctuated by the sounds of gloves being snapped on, Gibbs’s camera flash, Ducky retrieving his necessary instruments and DiNozzo opening and sealing plastic and paper evidence bags. Tony kept his eyes low, searching diligently until Ducky abruptly stopped examining Lucas Reynolds and looked towards the two agents; anger flashed through the Medical Examiner’s eyes.
“He’s been dressed, Jethro.”
Gibbs looked up and murmured something Tony couldn’t hear.
As Tony levered himself up from his crouching position by the left hand bed, he looked more closely at the unfortunate youngster hanging lifelessly in front of the window. Pacing over to stand behind Gibbs and Ducky he confirmed the M.E.’s suspicion. “Hmm... shirt buttons... wrong holes... shoe laces aren’t tied... no socks,” he stated. “Amateurs, Boss.”
“Or no time... I need to talk to Webb again,” Gibbs remarked as he turned and thrust the camera and electronic measure into Tony’s hands and pushed past him. He was a man on a mission.
“Guess I’ll shoot, sketch, bag and tag then,” Tony shot forcefully after his disappearing team leader. “What?” he snapped as Ducky eyed him. Hooking the camera strap over his head and around his neck Tony continued, “Ducky, I’ve been dodging bullets from him all day. He’s glared, yelled, made snide comments. He’s given me deadlines that even he would be hard pressed to keep. The only thing he hasn’t done is slap the back of my head. Which, I might add, I am very grateful for. You know he had a go at Abby earlier?”
“Abigail? Oh dear. Jethro...”
“What’s going on, Ducky?” Tony paced to the door, turned and paced back to the M.E. “I’ve messed up before. He’s never been like this. Is he trying to make me quit? Is that it? Because if he is, I won’t give him the satisfaction? Believe me when I say I’ve taken a lot worse.” He turned and began to walk away.
“But not from Gibbs.”
Tony stopped dead. Ducky’s words were plain, calmly stated and straight to the point. Tony had taken worse, just not from anyone he’d trusted or respected as much as Gibbs. That was why this hurt so much.
“You’re not the first you know, Anthony. You won’t be the last either. Granted Jethro’s methods are a little unorthodox...”
“I knew that when I first met him,” Tony clipped, still not looking at the M.E. “What d’you mean, I’m not the first?”
“Why are you working this weekend, Anthony?”
Tony was thrown a little by that question and spun around to face Dr Mallard. “Because Gibbs told me I had to.”
Ducky sighed. “Then we’d better get back to work, hadn’t we? Tony, would you be so kind as to fetch the gurney from the truck? I seem to have come out without Mr Palmer this weekend. I would fetch it myself but...”
Tony was ready to protest but declared to himself that he needed some air... and to get out of the tiny room. “Sure.”
“I’ve parked next to you.”
---------
Gibbs had chosen not to respond to Tony’s remark, electing instead to continue down the corridor to find Colonel Watson. He walked on, his mind wandering ahead of him.
It hadn’t escaped his attention that Tony was wearing one of his smarter suits; unusual for a weekend. He knew why, of course. Lots of people had favourite items of clothing. People had jackets that made them feel invincible, knitted sweaters that comforted, sweats that relaxed them. He had his NIS T-shirt. Tony had his suits, ties... and shoes. Over the years, he’d noticed that the smarter the suit, the more vulnerable Tony had appeared to be feeling; the more he needed to be seen to be together and controlled to the casual observer. Smart suits usually coincided with some kind of event - like the anniversary of his mother’s death; a harrowing case; after a trip to the hospital to receive treatment, or occasionally when he’d done something to piss him off and was worried about repercussions.
Today’s suit was black with a dark grey shirt and black tie.
Tony had obviously been worried about this weekend and Gibbs didn’t blame him. He knew there would come a time when he and Tony would have to talk, but he didn’t really do talking. Not with his team. Sometimes he wished he could but the right words were always hard to find, especially with those he cared about. Ducky was so much better at talking; Abby too, and Tony... well Tony seemed to talk about everything but personal issues. So instead of talking, he’d brought out the bastard gunny routine in full continuous force, trying to shake Tony up both physically and emotionally, wearing him down and getting him to talk first.
They were standard military techniques; shouting and yelling; glaring; getting in people’s faces; the silent treatment. It was cruel but effective, and it got results - whether it was directed towards a suspect in interrogation or a member of his team. He had faith that Tony could handle it. His senior field agent wasn’t military but he had lasted, and he just hoped that the treatment from his ‘bastard of a boss’ wouldn’t inadvertently cause him to run. If Tony needed to run, there was only one place Gibbs wanted him to run to... him. However, he still needed to do this. He needed to stress Tony in order to find out whether he was right about him.
Finding himself back outside Watson’s office, Gibbs quickly schooled his thoughts, knocked once and opened the door. “Colonel Watson. I need to speak to Webb, again.”
Watson picked up the telephone on his desk, made a brief call and replaced the receiver. “He’s on his way.”
---------
Several hours later and back in the warmth of the squad room, Tony sat alone and contemplated his relegation to the role of autopsy gremlin. After Gibbs had left to talk to Webb, and he and Ducky had had their little chat, he had fetched the gurney and helped Ducky to cut Reynolds down. Then he’d looked for, collected, packaged and logged evidence from Reynolds’s room before Gibbs had returned and suggested he ride with Ducky and transport Lucas’s body back to NCIS headquarters.
Agent Rosario from the North East Field Office in Newport had gone to inform the mother, Vanessa Reynolds. Mrs Reynolds hadn’t taken no for an answer and had insisted she come to D.C. to view her son’s body and collect his personal effects. She was now on her way. Lucas’s father, James Reynolds had died eight years previously in a car accident.
Neither Gibbs nor Tony had found any other evidence of suspicious circumstances at the scene. Tony had, however, found an unsigned, unaddressed simple note.
Sorry
Gibbs had established that Alvarez had ordered Webb to find Reynolds once his absence from chow had been noted. Matt Webb had searched for and found Lucas Reynolds hanging, semi-naked, from a makeshift noose in their room. Webb was his roommate and he’d built up a strong friendship with Reynolds over the course of their PLC training. Not wanting Reynolds to be found unclothed, Webb had tried to dress him before alerting Sergeant Alvarez and informing Colonel Watson. He’d said it was a marine thing... to have each other’s backs. Gibbs would have scoffed at that, Tony mused. Webb had hardly been able to do an average enough job at dressing the guy. If Gibbs had been his superior, he would have expected... no, demanded, nothing less than full dress uniform; and with an even smaller window of opportunity.
It was such a stupid thing to do, dressing a body; effectively it was disturbing a crime scene, but he could understand why people did it. He’d worked suicide and homicide cases before, where the victims had been covered up by the people who had found them... and in some cases by the person who had killed them.
This case though had all the hallmarks of a suicide rather than homicide. Reynolds was young, male and his method of choice, for the act, was hanging. Still, they had to wait for Ducky to carry out the autopsy and report his findings. He’d logged all the evidence he’d brought back from the scene, into the evidence garage but he would get Abby to look for prints on the suicide note and he’d already sent her an image scan of the note for a handwriting comparison analysis.
Quite simply, Lucas Reynolds had hung himself.
The speakers from his computer beeped, signalling the arrival of another e-mail in his Inbox. He hadn’t checked his e-mails yet, opting to run a background check on Webb, Reynolds’s roommate; fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the way you looked at it, the check had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
Food, Anthony needs food.
The interruption came out of nowhere. Hunger had already interfered with his ability to concentrate whilst he’d been writing up his notes and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before Gibbs came back with coffee... and something to eat, pizza hopefully. In the meantime, he ought to check his e-mails.
There were several. A couple from Tamsin, the girl he’d met in the park a week ago. There was yet another from personnel, Dominic this time; asking for details of his emergency contact and death benefactor’s name. If he told them a thousand times, it’d never be enough. They always mucked up his details. As he scanned down the list, his attention was caught when he read the subject line of an e-mail from Abby. Double-clicking the e-mail icon, a new window burst forth onto the screen and Tony began to read.
From: Sciuto, Abby
To: DiNozzo, Tony
Subject: Futons, Farts and Friends
Tony
I’m here ‘til 4pm, 16:00 or 21:00 Z UTC if you want to buy me a Caf-Pow. Can’t stay later. Need to pick up Sister Rosita. Sorry Tony, but I really can’t let the girls down. You’ve got all my numbers. Call me. Anytime. Leave a message. Just call me. Okay. Call. If you need to. If you don’t, then you don’t need to call, but if you do... do. Okay.
Abs
PS - The futon is under the bench as always.
PPS - Bert needs squeezing.
Squeeze Bert. Tony chuckled and shook his head at the ‘Abby-mail’. Might use the futon though, he pondered, if Gibbs hadn’t fired him before the day was out.
The high pitched noise of Gibbs’s telephone rang through the squad room, catching Tony unawares, and he swiftly transferred the call from Gibbs’s phone to his own and picked it up.
“Special Agent...”
“Jethro, I need you down here.”
“Sorry, Ducky you’ve got me instead. Gibbs is getting coffee and...”
“Doesn’t he have someone to do that for him?”
“Well, unless it’s case related, Gibbs has made it perfectly clear that I’m grounded and I don’t think he’d ask you, so... I guess that just leaves him.”
There was a short silence and Tony wasn’t sure whether Ducky had put the phone down.
“Ducky?”
“Okay Anthony, I need you down here.”
“On my way.”
After replacing the handset and transferring his calls to his cell, Tony made his way to the elevator, pausing briefly to place the details of the background check on Webb and his crime scene notes on Gibbs’s desk.
---------
Tension was high in the club where Abby, Sister Rosita and her fellow nuns were mid competition. Their rivals, the ‘Beltway Hooters’ had just bowled a strike and Abby was up next. She had to do this. The Hooters were winning.
She drew her arm back during the small run up and placed the ball square in the centre of the lane. Straight down the middle, this ball knew exactly where it was going and pulled no punches. It was fast, committed and deadly; no ninepin was safe from the powerful, rolling force as it smashed its way straight through the skittles with a resounding smack.
S-t-r-i-ke.
And the crowd went wild, Abby mused.
The ‘Beltway Hooters’ bowled an eight. They’d improved, a lot. She was going to have to bowl another strike if there was any chance of winning the game. Feeling the need to rid herself of the pressure weighing heavily on her shoulders, she decided a slightly different tactic would be needed this time.
She drew her arm back and, with a small flick of her wrist, brought her arm forward and released the ball. It veered to the right and one of the ‘Hooters’ started to laugh. Another rolled his eyes, no doubt thinking she’d handed them the competition on a plate because the ball was obviously heading for the ditch and there was absolutely no way it would hit anything. But Abby knew better. She had faith. Faith in her ball, and she waited, not once taking her eyes off the sphere as it slowly and with impeccable precision, arced back towards the middle of the lane, targeting the central skittle and deftly crashed right through the core bringing all the ninepins down.
S-t-r-i-ke.
Abby punched high in the air and spun around. “Yes!”
As she rejoined the nuns on the bench, a huge grin on her face, Sister Rosita glanced up and smiled.
“The DiNozzo play?”
“Uh huh. Works every time.”
“What next?”
“Mmm, not sure. May have to bring out Ziva.”
“Steady Abigail, you do know you only have to knock the skittles over, not smash them to smithereens.”
---------
Where the hell has he gone now? That was Gibbs’s immediate thought as he strode out of the elevator, only to be greeted by an empty squad room.
As he opened the paper bag that had accompanied him back from the coffee shop and removed the coffee, soda, Caf-Pow and two subs and placed them on his desk, he spotted DiNozzo’s crime scene notes and background check he’d done on Webb. Gibbs turned and glanced at the chair which his senior field agent should have been sitting in and smiled. DiNozzo wasn’t going to run.
The aroma of the coffee on his own desk was just too tempting and he took a long glug from the Styrofoam cup, unwrapped his sub and bit into it, savouring the taste of a Chicken BLT. Then he hesitated fractionally before throwing the soda and the other sub into his trash can. He checked his desk phone, which he found had been forwarded to Tony’s. Walking over to his senior field agent’s desk, he found that his phone had been forwarded on to DiNozzo’s cell. Atta boy. With a determined stride, he snatched the Caf-Pow from his own desk and went looking for Tony.
---------
Hands firmly in his pockets and with a resigned air, Tony strolled into Autopsy. “COD, Dr Mallard?”
“Mmm... rather formal, young Anthony.”
“Practicing my interview technique, Ducky”, Tony quipped, walking over to the autopsy table. “How are you with Résumés?”
“Surely it can’t be that bad, Anthony?” Ducky looked up from his clipboard, “You know I once had a Surgical professor at Edinburgh who...”
“You have something for me... or rather something for Gibbs, Ducky?” Tony pressed the M.E.
“Yes, yes I do.” Ducky balanced the clipboard on the edge of the autopsy table and folded the sheet part way back to reveal the lifeless head and upper torso of Lucas Reynolds. “Cause of death was asphyxia due to strangulation. See the ‘V’ mark around the neck. The hyoid bone was crushed and there is definite petechial haemorrhaging in the conjunctiva of both eyes. I’ll have to wait for the toxicology reports to confirm no other substances of interest, but all the signs are consistent with death by hanging. Most likely the young man took his own life.”
“So the dressing was...”
“Just a friend wanting to help,” Ducky answered, “a fellow marine looking after his own.”
“Not a marine, Ducky; never will be now.”
“Who are we talking about here, Anthony?” Ducky eyed Tony quizzically. After a few seconds he continued, “However, what is more disturbing is this,” Ducky folded the sheet back further allowing Tony sight of the full torso.
He thought the ugly v-shaped bruising around the neck was bad enough, but he was taken aback by the extent of the bruising over the rest of the torso. Ducky pre-empted his verbal response.
“Yes Anthony he was beaten”.
“But it didn’t contribute to his death?”
“I wouldn’t say that, Anthony.” Ducky raised an eyebrow, “Physically, no, it didn’t. None of the injuries were severe enough to cause any internal bleeding.”
Tony nodded, folding his arms. “His sergeant?”
“I don’t think so, see these marks here and here,” Ducky pointed to a set of ugly purple patches on the Reynolds’ left flank. “These are recent, and expected of any marine undergoing training; nothing unusual about that, but some of these are more angular... and these ones under the right arm are much older.” Pausing, he gestured for Tony to help him lift the body up.
Tony grimaced, grabbed a set of gloves and joined Ducky at the opposite side of the table. They turned the body gently and Tony forced himself not to react at the sight that greeted him.
“These marks range in age, well before he ever enrolled on PLC training,” Ducky continued and pointed at the criss-cross of scars that littered Reynolds’ back. “As you can see, some have healed quite well but this one just below the right shoulder blade... well,” Ducky sighed as they gently lowered Reynolds back down. “The angled shape of the markings are consistent with a small oblong object about five by seven centimetres... and yes, before you ask, Anthony... if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he was beaten with...”
“A belt...”
“Not just a belt, Anthony.”
“Yeah Ducky, I know...” Tony interrupted.
“And you didn’t find one at the scene?”
“Not one that would have done that.”
“Oh.”
---------
Gibbs walked into the lab hoping to find Abby either tapping away on her computer or busily preparing a sample so that she could insert it into one of her little grey coloured boxes but he knew she wouldn’t be there when he couldn’t hear the blare of the ear-torturing noise that usually accompanied her presence in the lab. There was no sign of his senior field agent either. He’d thought DiNozzo might have ventured down to see Abby. After all, the evidence wouldn’t process itself.
As it was, the lab was devoid of either Abby or DiNozzo. Pity. He would have liked to have been able to clear the air with Abby. DiNozzo, on the other hand, was another matter; he hadn’t finished with him, and clearing the air would have to wait just a little longer.
Leaving the Caf-Pow on the desk in Abby’s office, he headed out of the forensics lab and down the back stairs to autopsy to find Ducky.
As he approached the doors to Autopsy, Gibbs could make out the muffled sounds of his M.E. and his senior field agent talking. He moved closer but stayed outside the room, trying to listen in to their conversation. Even with impeccable hearing, it was hard to recognise the words through the closed door so he tried to watch their lips through the oblong Perspex window, but it was near impossible to see them clearly enough to understand the conversation. Straining his ears hard, he picked up something about a case in Baltimore. Kids had been involved. A case Tony had worked on? One of his homicide cases maybe?
Frustrated at not being able to catch all that Tony was saying, Gibbs opted to observe his body language instead. Tony looked uncomfortable, his arms were folded protectively in front of him, his neutral expression was convincing but his eyes revealed a heavy burden and when he spoke, what few words came were vocalised quietly, softly, inaudible except to the ME at Tony’s side, but Gibbs didn’t physically need to hear them to recognise the guilt evident within them... a guilt that tugged at DiNozzo’s very core.
---------
Kate was appalled. How could Gibbs do that? Eavesdropping on a private conversation between two of his team was definitely not allowed. Especially not without the appropriate authority and duly signed forms to back up that authority.
Okay, she did it. She listened in on her friends’ conversations, but she was allowed. She was dead, he wasn’t. That’s mean, Gibbs, she huffed, immediately leaving his side and repositioning herself beside Ducky in Autopsy.
---------
Gibbs was still eavesdropping from outside autopsy as Ducky and Tony’s conversation drew to a close. Ducky patted Tony’s arm and smiled at the younger man who then edged towards the door. Neither of them had seen him and Gibbs quickly stepped into the stairwell and closed the door. He observed silently as his senior field agent left autopsy, entered the elevator and punched the buttons with more force than was needed. As soon as the doors closed and he heard the elevator commence its journey to the floors above, he opened the stairwell door and strode determinedly into autopsy.
Ducky looked up as Gibbs entered and sighed.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Some.”
“I know you have a propensity for staying one step ahead of your agents, Jethro, but that was a private conversation,” Ducky huffed. “In confidence.”
“Baltimore?”
“In confidence means... in confidence... Special Agent Gibbs. You should know better,” the M.E. rebuked, wagging a finger. “And, I’m surprised you’d even think I’d break his trust like that. Especially after the way you’ve been treating Anthony. You didn’t treat Stanley like this on his weekend. Now, Lucas Reynolds.”
As the Doctor recounted the salient findings from his autopsy report for Gibbs, he couldn’t help but notice the hesitant and pained expression that his friend wore. He kept the report professional and relevant. Gibbs seemed to be registering the details but his mind, Ducky noted, was working overtime on other matters. This definitely wasn’t the time for regaling Gibbs with another of his stories about his time as a student in Edinburgh. Once his oral report was complete, Gibbs nodded briefly at him and turned to leave.
“Jethro. You can’t... he won’t thank you.”
“We’ll see.”
TBC...
---------
SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 2 - Old acquaintances?
Gibbs had sent DiNozzo to get food. He’d given strict ‘no junk food’ instructions but he reckoned Tony would come back with a couple of candy bars for himself and something that barely passed for food for him. He didn’t care; the guy was driving him crazy and it wasn’t the first time he wished he’d brought McGee instead. Spying the long queue for liquid refreshments he walked straight past the other LEOs waiting patiently, and up to the front of the queue where he demanded an extra large, strong, black coffee. No sugar.
“Thought I recognised that tone,” a vaguely familiar voice piped up from behind him. “Getting your own coffee now, Gibbs. Where’s your Probie?”
“Left him in D.C. DiNozzo’s on a food run.” Gibbs grabbed his coffee and spun around to shake the hand the man had offered. “Lieutenant Cheney. Good to see you again.”
“You too Gibbs. So...” Cheney continued, “You drew the short straw too?”
“Hey!” Gibbs turned and glared at the silver haired man who’d just pushed between him and Cheney and demanded a strong, black, sugarless coffee from the young man behind the counter. Gibbs wiped the spilt coffee off his jacket as the man turned around to face him.
“Problem?” the man asked.
“Hell, yeah!” Gibbs growled as he stepped up close to the man who dared to mess with his coffee.
Cheney glanced at the delegate badge on the unknown man’s jacket pocket. “Hey, you’re NCIS too,” he hastily intervened, as the two men commenced a full blown stare out contest in the middle of the refreshment hall. “You two know each other?”
“Never met,” Gibbs stated coldly, his eyes not once deviating from their target.
“Gibbs, his badge says he’s from...”
“D.C.” Gibbs quietly stated whilst appraising the man before him. “I know, Cheney.”
“But you... he...”
“HE better have a damn good reason for spilling my coffee."
TBC...
Chapter 5 - Saturday, 19:45 EST